Requiem and Remedy
by little blue lights
Summary: [HIATUS, UNDER REVSION] Harry didn't smile often, he noticed. A series of vignettes from Albus Dumbledore's perspective. The classic do-over time travel fic, AU
1. Return

I don't own Harry Potter.

This is the first part of a short story about the classic "do-over" time travel fic from the perspective of Albus Dumbledore.

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1.

_ Placement_

"Thomas, Dean."

A tall boy with a nervous smile stepped forward to put on the hat.

Albus waited a moment before the hat shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Lisa Turpin was off to Ravenclaw and Arden Uumen became a Hufflepuff.

Then, came the one he had been waiting for. He was quite sure he was not alone in awaiting this name. Filius leaned forward slightly, Professor Vector had an interested glint in her eye and Pomona perked up, appearing hopeful. Severus, to his not unexpected disappointment, looked like he had swallowed a lemon.

There was a definite note of excitement in Minerva's voice as she called, "Potter, Harry!"

Whispers broke out at the name, a mix of admiration and anticipation.

Slowly, young Harry stepped forward. His dark hair hung in his face, but even from this distance he could make out Lily's green eyes. He was slight; short and smaller than both of his parents at eleven.

An unpleasant suspicion at the boy's home life came to light a he studied Harry's pale face.

Taking the hat from Minerva, Harry turned away from Albus to face the hall as he sat on the stool.

For three long minuets, neither hat nor boy moved. Once, Harry flinched. After that, Harry's shoulders tensed and Harry muttered _something_ –Albus didn't catch what, but it sounded rather like Latin. Finally, at four minuets and twenty-nine seconds the Hat shouted "GRYFFINDOR!" and put an end to the whispers of the students.

Harry handed the hat back to Minerva (whom he gave a polite nod) before heading off to his new House table amid joyful shouts and enthusiastic applause.

2.

_ Reputation_

Albus did not make a habit of singling a student out in a staff meeting, unless there was a problem. Thus, he had not started the conversation about young Mr. Potter.

And, really, this was uncalled for. His teachers were _gossiping_ about the boy like little old witches at tea.

"…so polite," Pomona gushed. "And he seems to have some real talent for working with the Blubbering Bubbleberry Bushes. I've never seen a first year get half as many berries –except perhaps the young Longbottom boy. They work together as partners, you know, even when they don't need to."

"That will be good for Potter," Minerva chimed in. "Longbottom, too. Potter is rather academically gifted, but he doesn't seem to have much in the way of friends."

"Oh, I don't know." Albus had known Filius long enough to realize that he did know something and was about to say so. He knew that tone. The decisively light, dry words followed by a counter-point to whatever subject was at hand. "I think he's just a little introverted. And adjusting to being away from family, I'd imagine."

"Perhaps," the cat animagus allowed. "And he was raised by his Muggle relatives, so he's still getting accustomed to magic. I doubt they knew much about it and what they did know Potter doesn't seem to have been told much, or anything at all."

Albus supposed that last comment from the Transfiguration teacher was a not-so stutle dig at himself for having left Harry with the Dursley's.

"Perhaps," sneered Severus, mimicking Minerva's posture. "We could discuse something _besides_ one mediocre and conceited first year."

"Severus!" Minerva snapped. "The boy is one of the most polite students below fourth year! He'd hardly conceited!"

"Yes, I quite agree," squeaked Filius, sternly. "Mr. Potter is not full of himself at all. If anything, he trips into the pitfalls of self-depreciation."

"Potter is very talented and always does his best to help his classmates–!"

"Potter is a self-absorbed–"

"That will be enough!" Albus cut in. "Severus is right. This is not the time to discuss Mr. Pottter. However, that does not mean you should resort to needless insults."

He leveled the Potions Master with a stern look. The man glared and averted his eyes, but said nothing.

"Now," he said, forcing a smile. "What is the next issue we need to resolve? How has Peeves behaved? Is the Shrieking Shrubbery by the lake causing any blasted eardrums?"

3.

_Smile_

Between Wizengamot meetings, Cornelius Fudge's insecurities, his position as the head of the International Confederation of Wizards and other titles Albus' time was on high demand. Still, Hogwarts took priority and Albus made it a habit to be present at two meals everyday, just to be seen. Dinner he tried the hardest to attend, striving for a sense of presence in the student's lives.

He did his best keep up with the students, at least a little, be notices their patterns and selective groups, clubs and friends. He never could keep up with who was dating who. It was just too fast, but other things he did pick up on

Harry Potter, for instance, normally sat near the end of the Gryffindor table with Neville Longbottom. Occasionally, they were joined by a Ms. Hermione Granger or Ronald Wealey, but the red head preferred the company of his dorm mates Thomas and Finnigan and the girl seemed to like her books.

Young Neville seemed to be good company for Harry. But there was something …not quite right about the boy. Nothing bad or evil. Harry seemed to be the polar opposite of Tom.

Harry didn't smile often, he noticed.

And it bothered him. Albus couldn't say why, exactly. Maybe it was guilt for leaving Harry with family that had not treated him as family should. He'd heard all about Harry's intense dislike of touch, wariness and distrust. That sort of thing only came from enduring hardship. Who else could have hurt the boy so?

He had observed for himself Harry's silent, but sure independence and the way he carried himself like… an old soldier. He seemed _tired_ often. Not from lack of sleep or too much homework, but from carrying a burden too big for his young mind to handle alone.

The last thing he wanted was to add to that burden with the information of Voldemort and the prophecy…

Harry didn't smile often, he noticed.

He _never_ laughed.

4.

_Adventure_

Giving gifts to one's students was frowned upon. Albus had never done it before, at least not when school was in session. Still, he reasoned, he'd had James's (Harry's now) Invisibility Cloak for ten years. It really should be passed along.

It might spark a much needed sense of adventure in the boy.

It might be the only other gift the boy would receive, with the other coming from Mr. Longbottom.

Yes. It was a good idea. What could possibly go wrong what with handing an eleven year old boy a Cloak of Invisibility? Here you are, Harry. Use it well.

Oh. _Use it well_. That was laughable. He might add that to the note.

He wondered what Harry would use it for.

5.

_ Desire_

The compulsion charm he had added to the Cloak would fade within hours. The magic was too strong to let an enchantment like that stick around. He knew he shouldn't have added it, but he was unsure if Harry would have even used the Cloak at all without it.

If he was being honest, he really did want to know what Harry desired and what sort of insight into Harry's character he might glean from the opportunity.

And he just wanted to meet Harry. Face to face for the first time in ten years.

Harry's hand hung in midair, outstretched, reaching for whatever he saw in the mirror.

The boy stood, unmoving for a long moment. With the Cloak at his feet and longing in his everbright green eyes, Harry refused to move closer. But he had yet to turn away.

Suddenly, Albus was sure that once Harry left he would not go searching again. If he wished to talk to Harry, it was now or never.

"I see, Harry, you like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised," he began abruptly, canceling his disillusionment charm.

Harry did not start.

His hand fell to his side, but he didn't look around.

"You think so, Professor?" Harry asked quietly. "Little is …_delightful_ about it."

"Why is that?" Albus asked stepping closer so that he was next to the boy.

"Because," he paused, searching for words. "…it doesn't… it doesn't do anything but show you what you want, none of it is real."

Harry finally tears his eyes away from the mirror to look up at him.

"Quite right," he acknowledged, rather impressed by the answer. "But it does not simply show you what you want…"

He trailed off, hoping Harry would work out the mirror secret. He also hope Harry would give a hint about what he saw, not that it was his place to push.

This time Harry met his eyes, though his expression remained unreadable.

"…It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate, desire of our hearts," Harry said, finally, but it a almost self mocking tone.

"That is exceedingly correct," Albus praised, impressed in spite of himself. "I could not have put it better myself."

At that, Harry averted his eyes looking uncomfortable. He discreetly wiped his eyes. Albus had noticed the tear tracks on his face until the moon light streaming from the classroom window made the water shine.

He was just about to ask another question, but Harry beat him to it.

"Do you think… Professor?" Harry began, hesitantly. "Do you know if I might find some pictures of my parents?"

"I think it might be wise to ask Hagrid, the gamekeeper. He was goods friends with you mother when she was in school and your father in his last three years."

"Th-thank you, Professor."

"Not at all, Harry. I just wish I could do more. …Now, why don't you put on that admirable Cloak back on and get back to bed?"

Harry bent down and gather the Cloak in his hands. He paused and let lout a small gasp. Green eyes darted up to meet blue.

"Good night, Professor," Harry said, then he threw the Cloak back over his head.

Albus was fairly certain Harry knew who had returned his father's Cloak.

6.

_Knowledge_

"…yes, Minerva?"

He was enjoying a cup of tea and some lemon drops in the teacher's lounge.

"You could help, you know," she said tartly.

Minerva was decidedly _not_ enjoying her task of marking all the end of year exams in addition to the normal load of homework.

Really, she asked for it.

"Help with what, my dear?"

He was close. Minerva hated spelling this out for him. At least, things she felt he should know. …Unless she was giving an "I-told-you-so" speech, in which case she took great delight in outlining everything in great detail.

But this was not the case.

"You know _what_! Honestly, you make every-! Oh, really, that boy!" She glared at a student's essay. The unfortunate student seemed to have raised her ire, if they way her eyes snapped back and forth on the page was any clue.

"Sickle for your thoughts?" Albus offered, wondering what had offended her sensibilities. Perhaps a student had slipped something in about Divination?

She glared at him for a moment, still upset that Albus hadn't taken her hint about "maybe two transfiguration masters might made the grading a little faster." In the end, she decided the essay was more offensive than the headmaster.

"Potter," she spat with uncharacteristic venom.

"Harry? Last I knew, you singing his praises as a sort of transfiguration prodigy, not turning his very name into a curse! …Have you been spending much time with Severus?"

Minerva let out an exasperated sight as her anger faded visibly. "No, Albus. Harry's work is as good as ever. Better, in fact."

"Whatever can be wrong, than?" Albus asked, quite perplexed.

"He's been reading from the restricted section again," she muttered, darkly.

"He doesn't have permission?"

"Well, I suppose he did for a little while. Pomona became tired of signing slips for the boys –Potter and Longbottom. They like Herbology very much and do more extra creidit than all the other class combined. Against her better judgment, she singed an All-Rights/Any-Reads form."

"She signed a form to allow a pair a _first years_ to read _any_ book in the restricted section?" Albus repeated, shocked.

"Well yes, she did. She knew they wouldn't abuse it, And they didn't really, I'll admit, but I didn't like the idea of a first years reading advanced Transfiguration theory. I don't want them getting confused or trying something reckless."

"Do you think they would?"

"Doubtlful. Those boys are careful. But I couldn't risk it. Others might have stolen the books and used them rashly…" She shook her head.

"It also looked like favoritism. Potter had to go to the hospital wing twice because he ran into some jealous sixth year who decided jinxing would be a good way to show their disapproval."

Albus mulled it over. He didn't quite agree with taking permission away when the boys hadn't done anything wrong, but he didn't like the fact that it had been given at all. Then he remembered the essay.

"You said Harry was reading from the section again? How can you tell? Is he sneaking in?"

She laughed. "He wouldn't sneak in. I'm inclined to believe that Harry is owl ordering the books. He has enough money to make the purchases and his essay are always better when he has access to advanced material. That's I can tell."

"In the end, the effect is the same. It would been better to just put some restrictions on his permission form."

"Yes, it would have," Minerva muttered bitterly.

"You can't fault a student for perusing knowledge."

7.

_Protection_

Quirrell was dead, body burned to ash. The stone was gone. Harry was riding the Hogwarts express, but unlike his classmates, he wasn't going home.

_"Do I have to, Professor? Hogwarts is more my home than Number Four ever was."_

_"Harry, please, it is the safest place for you."_

_"Why? They don't make it exactly safe…"_

Harry had challenged that he might spend the summer at a Muggle friends house if the Professor couldn't explain _why_ he needed to be there.

Horrified at the thought of Voldemort finding the boy, he explained the blood wards and how Harry would be safe from the Dark Lord's followers and Tom Riddle himself.

Harry had quickly agreed to stay the first month and a half, but he felt that it was less Harry caring about his safety and more not wanting to hurt Albus by worrying him.

Albus didn't know how he felt about that. He worried more than ever about his treatment at the hands of the aunt and uncle, but at the same time could forget the smile Harry gave him when he promised to arrange visits with Neville every Saturday.

He would work something out. He had promised.

Albus forced himself to focus on Voldemort. What was he planning? How would he use to the Stone? What specific rituals had the man preformed to ensure his "immortality?"

How long would it take for him to rise again?

Tap.

How would he explain to Nicholas?

Tap. Tap.

An owl. Albus moved over one of the window of his office to let the barn owl in.

Swooping low, over his desk, it dropped a package before darting quickly back out the window.

Intrigued by the almost familiar magic that emanated from the brown wrapping, Albus lifted it up and inspected for any sort of Dark magic. Twenty minuets later, his curiosity got the better of him. He was almost sure this wasn't a trap.

Inside, there was the Philosopher's Stone.

And a note. It read:

_The Stone, returned. Strengthen your school. Voldemort will find another way to return._

_ EPH_

Albus had a funny feeling he knew Mr. E-P-H was going to be someone rather unexpected.


	2. Resolve

I don't own Harry Potter. If all goes as planned, this is part two of three. It should be a threeshot, but I might end up dong all seven years. We'll see.

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1.

_Disaster_

Harry's stay at the Dursley's is an undisputed disaster. What with House-elves and accidental magic and the sudden absence of the left front flowerbed, Albus reconsiders.

"Harry, how would you feel about spend the rest of the summer at Hogwarts?"

Harry nodded enthusiastically and dashes upstairs to get his trunk. Albus is disappointed to find that it is still packed.

Is this how badly you treat him? His trunk in still packed after a weeks in your house. He loves his school better than here. You know so little about him, after spending almost eleven year together. How could you, Petunia?

"Harry, please wait outside. I want to have a… word with you aunt and uncle."

His green eyes widen.

"Don't hurt them too much," he whispered coldly. He brushed past and walked out the door.

His plea startled Albus. How had he known?

In the end, what he does to Mr. and Mrs. Dursley is rather illegal and obscure and will not be tracked back to him …but he doesn't hurt them… much.

Because Harry asked.

Albus tells them, but they weren't grateful.

2.

_Again_

It haunts him.

_The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir… Beware._

Will there be more attacks? More deaths?

Then Harry's eyes. They look like they've seen this before, but where? When?

3.

_Flowers_

Harry was horrified by Ms. Granger's petrifaction. It surprises Albus how deeply he is effected by it. As far as he knew, Harry and the girl were only acquaintances.

Harry always keeps fresh flowers on her bedside table, sometimes picked by the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, sometimes Transfigured,

It's an impressive bit of magic for a second year.

Albus wondered -not for the first time- if Harry was really the age he appeared to be. He was far to mature. Too sad. Too... broken. No, Harry was _not_ broken. He was too strong for that.

"_But he still holds himself like a soldier_," muttered a traitorous voice from the back of his mind. "_He knows too much. He might not be the real Harry Potter at all. He can do magic most children his age can only dream of._"

Most sixth years couldn't do half the things Harry did, half as as nicely, though for the flowers he supposes Harry gets enough practice. He makes up colourful crowns of pretty flowers for the first year girls.

When Ms. Lovegood passes him in the Great Hall with Harry's blue and yellow flowers in her hair, Albus felt like he had seen Ariana's ghost.

Only, he hadn't made his sister flowers half as of often as Harry does.

4.

_Requirement_

Harry, Neville and his new friend Luna often vanish for hours on the seventh floor. The portraits tried everything to find where they were hiding, but uncovered little.

Harry's two friends seem to love him. Harry doesn't notice. Albus wondered if he should have been harder on the Dursley's.

When Albus finally ask the House-elves about a place to hide on the seventh floor, he can't help, but feel outdone by a resourceful twelve year old.

But it is okay, because Harry is always the exception of the rule.

One day, Albus ran into Harry in front of the room.

"What do you need, Professor?" Harry asked in an _almost_ mocking tone.

His voice held a note of familiarity and warmth that wasn't there before the summer. Almost like Harry likes him. Albus quickly warms to the idea.

"Nothing, anymore," he smiles. "What about you?"

"I don't suppose you can get a new Defense teacher on short notice?"

"What did Professor Lockhart do, Harry?"

"It's mostly what he _didn't_ do that bothers me," Harry said blithely, leaning against the wall. "Teach and all of the stuff in his books. Turns out he's rather gifted in Memory Charms. I just avoided one, you see…"

Albus was not happy that evening. Dealing with fire-happy Aurors, an attack on a (famous) minor and the need to find a new Defense is tiring. At least he managed to keep Harry's name out of the papers.

5.

_Smile_

Albus is glad Sirius is a free man. All those years he had mistakenly believed him guilty…

From Harry he had learned that the rat nearly had come to Hogwarts with young Ronald. He shuddered to think of Pettigrew hidden and dangerous in the castle.

He simply _beamed_ when Harry had met his godfather for the first time in his office, one spring evening.

However he could help but feel inexplicably… jealous –replaced, even- when Harry gave the man a shy, rather tentative, smile.

It was ludicrous. Silly and petty. Of course Harry would be excited to meet his godfather! It wasn't like Harry had ignored Albus on purpose.

Knowing that, Albus realized, didn't make him feel any better.

6.

_Trust_

Harry had appeared one night with a sobbing Ginny Weasley, an uncertain Neville Longbottom and a pale Luna Lovegood who was sporting an unpleasant cast along her cheek. He held a small damaged black book in his right hand (which appeared to have been chewed on by a large… something). Albus was quite certain he didn't want to know what it was. He would ask regardless.

It was probably of some terribly dangerous and frightening variety. The type of monster that features heavily in nightmares and is not normally seen by twelve year old boys.

In Harry left hand he supported the blood stained Sword of Gryffindor. On his shoulder perched a Fawks who sported a smug smile._ "I know something you don't know!" _the phoenix seemed to say in a sing-song voice.

It was after curfew, but Harry was covered slime and blood. Explanations could wait.

"You've long a lot of blood, my boy," he explained, noticing the child's confused glance. "You'll be needing a few potions."

"A Blood Replenishing Potion," Poppy barked disapprovingly, but concerned at the same time. "And a standard Toxin Remover."

Harry paled. "I think I'll need something more powerful than that."

"What on earth attacked you?! A standard Remover could clean out a acromantula bite," she snapped. "I doubt anything a second year could find would be more venomous than that!"

"I was attack by a Hor- a memory," Harry muttered, stutter a bit. "And I was bitten and thrown around by a giant snake."

"How big?" Poppy asked impatiently and she fumbled with vials of miscellaneous medical potions.

"Very," Harry said simply.

"Here, drink this." She handed him several goblets full of liquid before bustling off to tend to Ms. Lovegood. Harry swallowed them with visible wariness and alertness.

Albus found child's distrust worrisome, but he pushed that away for the moment to focus on the four children.

"I see you had something of an adventure tonight," he began. A note of disbelief sounded from Harry's direction. Albus could not guess why. "Care to share?"

Young Neville spoke up first, "Luna found the Chamber of Secrets."

His heart skipped a beat. Excitement, surprise and horror. "Where?"

"The girl's bathroom on the first floor," Harry said, not meeting his eyes.

Ah, so Salazar had a sense of humor after all. "I see. And you decided to investigate?" He phrased it like a guess, but the answer was rather obvious.

Ms. Weasley was about to speak, but Harry spoke quickly. "Yes. The Chamber itself in miles beneath the school. We followed the Chamber to another room where I found this-" he held up the book, which Albus noticed the name emblazoned upon it TM Riddle. Oh no…

"And this… this boy was there. He was an older student in Slytherin robes and he had a prefect badge. He tried to lie his way out and claimed he hadn't opened the Chamber and that he was investigating as well," Harry explained.

"We didn't believe him so he attacked us and stunned Ginny and Neville in a duel. He said he had… convinced… someone to open the Chamber and it was better work for him than against him. He made some pretty egotistical claims."

"He was a great murdering prat, you mean," Neville put in.

"Yes, that. He sounded like a psychopath, honestly," Harry continued. "Then Luna and I told him to shut it."

"I remember you telling him that Albus Dumbledore was the greatest wizard in the world and that Riddle would never know true power," Ms. Lovegood corrected absently.

Harry blushed and most definitely did _not_ meet his eyes. He hurried on before Albus could speak, though.

"It's true. Real power comes from striving to gain something with everything you have without giving up. …And the only thing that is worth the effort is friendship," Harry gave his friends a shy smile before moving on. "I made Riddle quite angry, I think, so he called his snake to attack me. That was Slytherin monster. The giant snake. Anyways, it's tail came out of nowhere and hit Luna and I."

He nodded to the girl's face. "She was unconscious, after that."

"How did you fight the snake?"

"That's when… that's about when this bird showed up," Harry said uncertainly, as though he didn't think Albus would believe him, giving the bird a measuring look.

"Ah, I wondered when Fawkes showed up," Albus smiled.

"Fawkes?" Harry repeated.

"Yes, Harry. Fawkes, you see, is a phoenix, He has been my friend for many years now."

"_Fawkes_?" Harry repeated, sounding incredulous. "As in Guy Fawkes? Bonfires and fireworks? _Going up in fames_?"

"Ah, yes. Exactly, Harry. I think you are the first person in about… ten years to pick up on that."

"Phoenix burst into flames when it is time for them to die then they are reborn from the ashes," he added, noting the other children's puzzled expressions.

Harry opened his mouth to respond. He closed it and shook his head before moving on. "So Mr. Phoenix here gave me the Sorting Hat. Not having much else to work with, I asked it for help."

He gave the Sword of Gryffindor a significant glance.

"The hat gave me the sword, over there. I was knocked around by the snake for a while before it decided to make me dinner. I got a lucky shot under the chin."

"It is dead?"

"Er, yes."

"What did Riddle do?"

Harry sighed. "Riddle had a pity party and wanted to duel me himself. I stab this book with a fang. He vanished."

So the "giant snake" was a basilisk. And… he held the battered diary in his hands… the book was a Horcrux. What other abominations had Tom made? Why hadn't Harry told him which of his friends Tom had possessed? Ms. Lovegood, Ms. Weasley or Mr. Longbottom? Did think they would get in trouble? Expelled? It was obvious that Tom had used _someone_.

…Should he tell Harry? Of Horcruxes? Of the Prophecy? One glance at the boy's determined face answered that question. Who else could he trust? Who was better?

Someone not so young, with a life ahead of him. Someone more experienced in magic to better face the challenges. Someone he didn't love quite so much because he didn't want to lose him.

Whatever his misgivings Albus couldn't think of anyone else he would rather trust.

7.

_Hourglass_

Harry was sleep in Hospital Wing with the covers barely touching the child's chest. The boy shifted and his hands clenched into fists reflexively. Something on the boy's right palm caught Albus' eye.

Gently, he reached out and pulled the hand forward for inspection. Even in sleep, the boy flinched away, trying to tug away his captured hand.

Albus held tight and, after moment, Harry settled back into unsteady sleep. With care, he coaxed the fingers out of the fist and held the boy's palm out for examination.

A strange twisted line wound it's way all over the surface of the hand. The line seemed to have been caused by a small chain of some sort and stood out, almost red, against pale skin. To the side of his thumb were two tiny triangles pressed together in a crude imitation of a faded hourglass and were surrounded by a faint outline of a circle.

What on earth? Magic had caused this injury, of that he was certain. He could feel it writhing and pulsing beneath the surface.

Albus was rather proud of his memory. It was almost photographic and it helped him remember names and Houses of long past students and remember insignificant things, some of which later became important.

He remembered to things he was almost certain connected to this puzzle. The first was that Harry's wand arm was his left. The second was that Harry despised physical contact, even handshakes. The third and last was a faint recollection of the bandages that had wrapped Harry's hand during the Welcoming Feast last year.

What had made this scar? It looked like a burn of some kind. When had Harry burned his hand and with what? He supposed he could just ask, but right now…

Right now, Harry was sleeping. It could wait until morning.

Or until Harry _wanted_ to tell him.


	3. Reminder

1.

_Hopeless_

Sometimes, Albus lost all hope.

Harry was destined to fight Voldemort. Did the boy even have a chance? What if Voldemort won If Harry was hurt…? If Harry was defeated, what would he do?

Why had he let himself get so close to someone he might lose?

Did Harry even know that he cared? Albus had thought it obvious, but sometimes Harry would _look_ at him and see something or someone who threatened him. Albus had taken great care not to hurt the child by keeping him at arms length, but that plan had been quickly discarded when he realized all the inconsistencies Harry's behavior.

He had found them worrisome (or had that only been his excuse?) and had drawn him unwittingly into trying to solve the mysteries that surrounded Harry James Potter.

Before he knew it, Harry was spending the remaining weeks of his summer holiday before his second year at Hogwarts. And the year after. Now Harry was thirteen. Would he stay the next summer?

Albus wondered when he had become so accustomed to the boy popping in to _just say hello_ (such a simple thing, but it meant quite a bit) or requesting advanced materials that he really shouldn't have giving such a young boy –only he trusted Harry- or the slight boy frequenting the Restricted Section, sometimes even Albus' own private library, though the reason _why_ he had given permission still eluded him…

Albus asked many people to _trust_ him or _trust_ his judgment. Maybe it was time to return the favor.

Because when Harry was around Albus didn't remain hopeless for long.

2.

_Escape_

Albus sighed tiredly as he sat down at his desk. He waved off concerned questions from the portraits of past headmasters and headmistresses -or in Phineas Niegellus' case a dark comment about his age.

He could imagine the headlines already. He suspected Fudge was more worried about the public backlash that was sure to hit him, rather than fear for the danger of the situation. A mass breakout from Azkaban, with at least one Death Eater who held something personal against young Harry.

Peter Pettigrew. He wondered if the traitor was even brave enough to hold a grudge against the boy whose hand had been so involved in his capture.

He supposed he should call the boy up to his office to break the news gently as opposed to reading it in the newspaper the following week. Sirius would wish to know as well.

"Fawkes?" Albus asked after writing two missives out on a spare bit parchment. "Are you able to take this to Sirius for me?"

The phoenix gave him a withering glace, affronted that the man had felt the need to _ask_. He settled on having Minerva deliver the letter after dinner. Albus would be busy trying to convince Fudge that Hogwarts was not in need of extra protection in the form of dementors.

Dementors at a school. Really, what _was_ the man thinking?

3.

_Older_

It did not escape Albus how much older than his thirteen years Harry appeared during the duel. He ran out of the Three Broomsticks (with a utter disregard to Minerva's warning to "stay _put_, or else") with wand at the ready hurling hexes and curses into the small crowd of attackers.

His spells were quick and mostly simple, but the creative uses of the charms were noticeable. He felled a Death Eater with three Stinging Hexes and a jinx to his shoelace. Lucius Malfoy was downed by some sort of tongue twisting spell, a stunner and a surprisingly solid punch from the child. Nott, Avery and Lestrange were likewise taken out in a swift manner.

The boy's spellwork in and of itself wasn't too impressive. _Stupefy_ was a fifth year charm, but Remus had incorporated it in his lessons. Stinging Hexes and Summoning Charms were fourth year material. Everything else had been covered in Harry's classes or else were standard schoolyard curses.

No, what worried Albus wasn't Harry's power or knowledge (though he had a feeling the boy was hiding quite a bit) but rather the relentless look that had blazed in the child's eyes when Mr. Weasley had been threatened.

Harry, it seemed, was _very_ loyal to his friends.

…That was an understatement if he ever knew one.

4.

_Smile_

Christmas had snuck upon Albus that year. He had been distracted by the Azkaban escapees, Voldemort and Horcruxes (Tom's diary had proven his theory), keeping the dementors in line and slowly rebuilding the Order, all the while trying to keep on top of his duties as Headmaster and politician… Christmas came as a little surprise.

Albus still wasn't clear on the story of how Harry Potter had ended up in the Staff Room celebrating Christmas, but he didn't find it within himself to object, even if it was against the rules. Severus had no such qualms, but he hadn't stayed long enough for anyone to pay him any mind.

In any case, Albus guessed the boy had been talked into spending the holiday with his teachers by Remus and Sirius who was visiting for the day. Harry had enough common sense to request to stay at the castle over break to avoid "arduous security arrangements" to quote the boy.

…Sometimes he wondered if Harry was really thirteen.

Surprises abound and Harry had a gift for almost everyone. More proof. What kind of thirteen year old goes to the trouble of picking out Christmas gifts for his teachers?

No. He was being ridiculous. He could easily recall Harry as a young baby and later a toddler with his parents. There was nothing else for it. Harry was simply one of a kind.

"Happy Christmas, Professor," Harry pushed a small box wrapped in gold and green into his hands with a rare smile. "I figured you'd want something other than books this year."

Harry's smile changed into what could almost be described as a… _mischievous_ smirk. Could Harry _smirk_? It was such an odd thing to see Albus was left momentarily speechless as Harry sauntered away.

The boy soon found himself trying to wrangle his godfather away from the resident Potions Master.

And Harry was _still_ smiling. Well, no he wasn't, but the unhealthy pallor that usually haunted the boy's features was gone and he stood as if someone had lifted a great weight from his shoulders.

Pulling himself from his daze, Albus unwrapped the gift to find a bright blue pair of thick woolen socks.

Not for the first time, he wondered if Harry knew more about Albus than Albus knew of Harry. Still, it didn't matter because Harry had smiled.

For a brief moment, Harry had looked like any other ordinary third year boy who attended staff parties and gave gifts to his teachers.

5.

_Speak_

Exams were drawing near. Or they were if one listened to Ms. Granger. In actuality, they were still three months away.

Albus had noticed the group of students studying by the lake. While he was a teacher and approved of the idea of preparation he could tell it was doing Harry little good. Harry didn't need to revise for school. Harry needed to relax for his own health.

Or perhaps it was something else. In any case, Albus found himself inviting a third year boy to stop by his office. He could tell there was something wrong. The brief smile he had at Christmas was gone. Harry looked more tired than ever and though he held his head high (with purpose, even) but the rest of his body was battered and use and so very _tired_.

Thus, a sort of unspoken routine began without Albus even realizing it. Every Friday an hour before curfew Harry would drop by his office just to _talk_. To make conversation. Albus though it might do Harry some good just to know that he could confide in someone if he wished.

They talked about almost anything.

"That's ridiculous!" Harry protested one night, as if the notion was truly that foreign to him. "The opposite of love isn't _hate_."

Albus knew he should probably find himself amused at the antics of the boy, but was simply wanted to know the answer as Harry saw it. "What is it then, Harry?"

"Fear," Harry said simply. He took a sip of tea then felt the urge to elaborate.

"All hate can be traced back to fear, somehow. A place where love didn't touch because we won't let it. Because we're scared that we might lose someone we love if we say something or do something. Some insecurity."

"I think you are correct, Harry," said the teacher faintly. "I've thought the same thing myself, on occasion."

Sometimes Harry would just speak of his friends.

"Neville is doing _really_ well in Charms. He's gotten so much better now that his confidence has grown. It helps that he has a wand that is better suited to him now, but he keeps his father's as a secondary."

"Your idea, I might guess?" Albus asked dryly. There is no other way to say it. Harry is a little paranoid. He was a wary and cautious child, but Albus doubted that the boy even knew that things keeping a secondary wand or checking to see if he was being followed wasn't part of most people's everyday lives.

"Well… yes," Harry muttered, flummoxed. "How'd you know?"

"It seemed like one of your suggestions."

Harry gave him an unconvinced glance but evidently decided he didn't want to know the real answer.

Only once did Harry bring up the Azkaban escapees, though he had been a little more willing to speak of the attack on Hogsmead. Albus had a sinking feeling the reason behind that was less a matter of the trust he had in his teacher and more the hope that Albus might show him some dueling tricks.

"I noticed you've been taking dueling lessons with Filius," he began one night when Harry was being unusually silent.

"Yes. I tutored my friends in Defense in the past two years. We've learned a little dueling and after the attack I needed to know more."

Albus noted the use of _need_ rather than _want_. Let it not be said Harry Potter didn't have a clue about what a Death Eater might do to him.

Harry liked to sit back and listen, sometimes. Albus found himself reliving memories of his own school days and years as a teacher for Harry's amusement. Almost every night Harry stayed up long past curfew causing Albus to escort Harry back to Gryffindor Tower every week.

Albus skirted around darker subjects like Hallow'een night 1981, Horcruxes and the prophecy, but refused to lie, even by omission, simply stating that he didn't wish to speak of those things. _Not yet_, at least. Harry didn't press but they came up rather often and it was becoming harder to change the subject. Harry still didn't push, but Albus simply felt guilty not sharing what he knew.

He's only thirteen, he reasoned. How could he tell him now? He couldn't be ready. Only, sometimes he felt as if Harry already knew but respected Albus enough to not bring it but until _he_ was ready.

It was absurd. Sometimes it felt like it was true, regardless.

6.

_Prisoner_

No one was sure how it happened, but the result was clear. Harry Potter had been kidnapped by a Death Eater by use of portkey when he got off the Hogwarts Express.

Two agonizing weeks of fruitless searching, disheartening headlines on every newspaper and a deep-set worry that threatened to overcome him.

Two weeks afterward, Harry Potter telephoned Hermonie Granger from a Muggle Hospital.

Albus read the girl's hastily written note that said yes, Harry was alive, but no, he doesn't seem well. He rushed off to the hospital without proper backup for a trap.

When he reached Harry's room in the hospital he paused in the doorway to observe the child. Harry couldn't stop shaking. _The_ _Cruciatus Curse_, Albus recognized, with horror. His right hand was in a thick blue Muggle cast.

He couldn't stop himself from wrapping his arms around the child just to see if he is alright. He felt his heart break when Harry flinched from the contact.

Harry did not like being touched.

"Harry," he began, barely controlling the urge to hold the boy again and never let go. "Harry, are you alright?"

"Professor, it was Voldemort. He took some of my blood. He use it to- to… He's back, Professor," Harry looked down at his blanket covered lap. "I… I couldn't stop him."

Around the boy's head and peaking out of shirt are bandages. Scratches and bruises were numerous. Harry's eyes kept darting from Albus to the window to the door.

"I tried, Professor… I need to-"

"Harry," Albus cut the boy off. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Professor. Please, Voldemort-"

"Voldemort can wait. What I worried about now is _you_."

Harry looks startled. "I'm fine, Professor. Just sore. And I'm not sure if I'll be touching anything with my hand for months. But that's not important right now! Voldemort is back. I need-"

"Harry."

"What, sir?"

Albus leaned forward to make eye contact. He pretended not to be hurt when Harry leaned away. "Listen to me. You _are_ important. Very much so. Not because of anything to do with Voldemort or magic or anything else. You are the most kind and genuinely caring person I have ever met."

Harry flushed spectacularly and did not meet his gaze for a long moment before he changed the subject.

"Voldemort used my blood in a dark ritual to get his body back."

Harry was not going be distracted by things like his health it seemed. Still, it would be better to hear the boy out before he became hysterical.

Albus was going to spend time with Harry this summer. He would make sure of that.

7.

_Guess_

Harry had been released from the Hospital Wing hours before and had decided the best way to celebrate was to hide in the library's Restricted Section from prying eyes and "overbearing nurses, godfathers and friends" was the message Albus had overhead Harry mutter.

For that reason, Albus decided it would be a good time to strike up a conversation. He had the advantage of being Harry's professor not nurse, godfather or friend.

Harry shot him a dark look for disturbing him but it took too much effort to maintain.

"I see convinced Madam Pomfrey to let you out early. An impressive accomplishment, I'm sure."

"Not exactly," Harry deflected, like he did with anything that sounded like a compliment. Or he would ignore them. Albus watched with amusement as Harry struggled to remove a large history book from the shelf with only one hand.

Harry heaved the book onto the table and sat down, resting his injured arm in his lap. "I told her it was better for my metal health. I wanted to get my life back, see? Write letters to my friends, sleep in my own bed, do my homework… things like that."

"You aren't doing any of those things now."

"No, I'm attempting to sequester myself away in a dark corner to read a book, but someone decided I should be social," Harry mocked before turning to his book.

"Harry."

"Professor."

They stared at each other for a moment. Harry looked away first. He looked instead to the window. Then Albus. Door. Other window. Albus. .

There was no denying it. Someone had hurt Harry long before Tom Riddle and his snake in his second year.

"What happened to your hand, Harry?"

"What?" Harry's attention snapped back to Albus. "Pettigrew broke it. I think he might have tried to heal it but didn't do a very good job. The doctors –er, Muggle healers- did the best they could… it's going to need to heal naturally."

"No, Harry, before that. You have a curse scare on your hand that I might guess makes it resistant to magic."

"Really?" Harry asked sounded interested. "A magical object got really hot in my hand and burned me. I think it may have even melted."

Intrigued, but unwilling to let Harry get away with such vagueness Albus pressed, "I've seen the scar before. I wasn't going to ask you about it until you were ready, but it is causing you pain now so I'm afraid I must break that resolve. What "object" was this?"

"It was- no. I'm not going to tell."

Harry met his eyes. Albus frowned. This was the first time Harry had straight out refused to tell him something.

"Anyways, what's more important is this. I can _feel_ magic with my hand. Sense it. What kind it is, what it can do. It's painful sometimes if the magic is too strong. That's why I'm left-handed now. I can't use my right for my wand. There's too much magic," Harry explained reluctantly.

"Writing hurts too sometimes depending on my mood or if I'm doing Runes or Airthmancy or doing an essay with spell incantations I need to write. I got sick of my hand picking up all the magic so I switched."

"I see. Why won't you tell me what caused this?"

"You'll have to guess," Harry said a little sadly.

Albus thought there was more to Harry's answer than childishness. "You mentioned that it hurts sometimes?"

"Only if there is too much magic or someone tries to heal it with magic. Some things are quite nice."

"Is there anything else you can tell me?"

There was something wrong about the way Harry had refused to answer. He was determined to find out. Why did it sound familiar? Like something he had heard long ago, but had forgotten.

_You'll have to guess._

Why did that sound familiar?

* * *

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Sorry for the long wait. I've been sick. I know that's not a good excuse so to make it up to my readers I stayed up until 1:14 AM to proof read and post this. Also, forget what I said about this being a threeshot. I'm doing all seven years. There are too many little plots I have going to wrap it up just yet.

I also owe my revisers a big thank you. Please keep it up! It's nice to know you care. Tell me what you liked. Tell me what you didn't like. (Please!) It's called constructive criticism and I need it, I'm quite sure.


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